John hurried around the bulky desk his father had given him as a business opening present and grabbed the back of one of the two matching wooden chairs he had on hand for walk-ins. "Sure am," he said a little too eagerly. "What can I do for you?"

She sat down in the chair he was holding for her, pulled her lime green skirt as close as she could to her knees, and said, "My name is Tammy Goodchild." She lifted her hand for the private eye to shake. "I just sort of saw your office and decided to come in here."

Her hand was warm and soft. It suddenly occurred to John how long it had been since he had touched another woman, accidental or otherwise. After two bad relationships he had all but given up on the idea. "I'm John Farris. But I'm sure you noticed my name over the door. At least I hope it's still there." He felt a little more relaxed.

"I like your office," she remarked as she looked around at the bare-bones décor and the half empty boxes of junk that lined the floor against the back wall. "It's busy looking."

"That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said about this office. I like how you put that." He moved around to his high backed leather chair behind the desk, loudly banging his shin on the same corner he had been tagging all week. "I assure you I'm a better investigator than I am a maid."

Since her unexpected arrival, he had been trying to guess her intentions. He had been given the gift of being able to figure people on a glance. It was an ability that definitely helped on more than one of his cases. He could successfully guess a stranger's occupation, personality, and sometimes even their political preference with just the slightest of clues from the person. He had been way off the mark a few times, but most of the time he was able to hit the nail square on the head. His method was to read a person's gestures, voice tone, wardrobe, and the way they carried themselves. However, he found that the truth was more often in the eyes.

He couldn't see this woman wanting to ask about the Jeep. She looked to be more of the soft-top black BMW type. He had no trouble seeing her in the driver's seat of a Corvette.

She smiled politely and then toyed with the peach colored fingernails on her left hand before finally saying why she walked in. "I think I might need your help with something kind of strange."

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